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know very well, my dear Sir, if there be no plan, there is no meaning in what you do; ergo, no taste; and if there be no taste, it is all one as if there were no plan.

Not exactly. Sir Level.

Nay, you don't exactly comprehend me. You'll catch it by and by, when I show you my sketch. Why, these woods, as they now are, compared to what they will be when the plan is completed, are as a rude, untamed clown to a gentleman.

Say, rather, a savage chief to a posture-master. But you have been in the North lately, Sir Level. What progress is taste making in Lochaber?

O lud, lud ! totally impracticable! What could I do for them there?

I'm sure I can't pretend to say; but you did attempt something, I suppose.

Ay; the Laird of Glenvorluch, who is lately returned from Calcutta, with a large fortune at command, did indeed take me over his estate and put a carte blanche into my hands; but in vain.